Till Dawn Meets The Sky
by Araclyzm
Summary: [LY]For five long years, war has torn thousands. As the battles wind down, wills are tested and passions arise. But all of time cannot prepare for the battle that awaits them all...
1. Chapter One

**Till Dawn Meets the Sky**

**written by **_Araclyzm_

_Chapter One_

**p.o.v. Yuffie**

Five years.

It has been five years since the First Door, the wrong door, was closed. It has been five years since the Bearer disappeared. It has been five years since the flow of darkness worsened, three since it ebbed, two since it began again. It has been only one year since End of the World's core collapsed in on itself, spewing more and more of the black monsters into the many worlds, namely ours. It has been five years since we returned to our home, fourteen since we left it first. So many years, and yet it feels like hardly a day has gone by.

So many days. So much time wasted on nothing.

I inclined my head toward the window from my spot on the cushioned seat, placing a warm hand on the cool glass and marveling at the handprint left behind. It seemed perfect, a warm gathering of air on a cold surface, an imprint of something alive on something…not so alive. Needless to say, the handprint may have been perfect, but the owner of that hand was not. After all, who is? Perfection is something only the heavens can achieve, and even then they've got a few kinks to work out.

I leaned my forehead against the glass this time, sighing with much contentment as my head grew colder with the contact. It had been such a long time since I'd done something as simple as this, with no battles to fight or people to save. Just looking out the window as the rain falls silently down was something so trivial yet so…peaceful. It's at times like these when you begin to think the guy who said 'we never appreciate the small things until we lose them' was right.

But moments never last. _Make 'em last_, someone used to say. Unfortunately for people like us in times like this, moments when you could enjoy the trivial things we used to take for granted are as rare as they are small.

_Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep._

Oh, damn.

Another call means another job.

I picked up the gummi communicator, a circular object with only one means of function, pressing a single button in its center and holding in a breath as the scratchy sounds of static thanks to the rain filtered through the speaker.

"Seventh verse, same as the first," I recited in a gloomy tone of voice, for once holding in the giggle that I never failed to let loose at my stupid password, the likes of which made sure I was me.

"Kisaragi," barked a voice through the intercom, and I felt that if I had ears they would droop.

"Reporting, Sir!" I announced, holding the machine next to my mouth, and only slightly wondering how my voice changed so automatically.

"Get yer tail to the East Wing now. We got us a whole horde comin' up from the Waterway, but the Infirmary's gotta be taken care of first." The communicator clicked and I slipped it deftly back into its pouch, at the same time jumping to my feet in the nimble manner only ninjas could learn and perform.

Grabbing the leather pouch filled with the throwing stars that were my choice of weaponry, I slipped it onto my belt while pulling my sneakers on and bounded into the hall seconds later, turning right and sprinting down that direction.

_East Wing._

_Aerith._

Five years seem so unimportant now. It used to be that a day was all that stood between annihilation and survival – now, it is like the meanings of every big and little thing have intertwined and mixed, and every moment and all of time has no one meaning, but a thousand different meanings depending on who you ask or how you ask the question, or why you ask, or even where you are when you ask. It's strange how different the world seems now – there are times when you believe things can never change, and then, as sudden as snow, they do.

Things get so complicated when you actually take time to think them through. But Time doesn't give you any of itself to allow you to think – Time is a selfish little bitch who doesn't wait for your thoughts or, rather, any part of you to catch up. The nonexistent entity known as Time just ticks on by, since the day she was born, until the day that she stops. You never think of it that way until things change so suddenly that you do.

It's strange.

Five years ago, when I was sixteen, you'd think I was the happy-go-lucky brat trying to prove herself to the world because the world didn't accept or understand her. Maybe I was. Maybe I still am. But five years ago, the only thing I had to worry about was holding off a battalion of blackness before the one person who could make sure they never returned could sweep them back into darkness. Now, however, I have a mission that in retrospect has no official beginning or end – it's as if I'd always had it and I'd only become aware of it when the times changed. Protect the people that need to be protected – that was what they told us when we came here, that was what they repeated constantly when it all began again.

To protect. That's my only purpose now. I'm not a single being anymore, I'm not _just_ Yuffie Sierra-Rae Kisaragi. I'm just one tiny part of something so much greater, something that was made long before I was, something that someone somehow knew I would become a part of one day, long before I figured out why.

Jeeze. If you'd known me five years back and just met me again now, you'd never think I was me.

That's how much the times have changed.

--

_RING._

A sharp sound filled my ears as two shurikens made contact with the chair behind a black monster as it melded into the floor and back again. I cursed loudly before taking better aim with another star and making quick work of the Heartless.

I grabbed the other two throwing stars from the metal chair's back and threw them deftly at two fiends who stood close enough to each other that the action worked. Behind me, somewhere further down the hall, I heard the loud _clangs_ of swords meeting shields, as well as the soft _whoosh_ before magic met flesh. Three other warriors were with me, two strong ones with much experience, but one just released from the academy, which in a way sickened me. Inexperienced soldiers weren't supposed to be put under my watch – I would have to talk to Quistis about that later. It was like adding insult to injury, and, gawd, was that a bitch.

Three monstrous brutes materialized out of black smoke and surrounded me, thrusting their wolverine-headed shields at me threateningly. More of those smaller devils appeared around them like children who could bite, and from the corner of my eye, I witnessed as two balls of black bounced into life.

_Gawd. Work, work, work._

It was always the same. I had much to complain about, but I should have been used to it already.

Whistling loudly, I ducked as the biggest of the three Defenders shoved its shield at me with some biting attack. Five smaller Heartless tried to tackle me to the floor, but I was not in the mood to play with them this time around. I propelled them away from me by flailing my arms and shoving shurikens by the handful through whatever came near me. A sharp pain snapped through my side as one of the little ones bared sharp claws and tried to swipe at me.

Then the low, rhythmic chanting of magic came into the scene and I almost fell back in relief, but didn't, as the Defenders, who'd just realized the little mutts weren't going to keep me down, powered up their shields to shoot.

"Flare," whispered a close voice and the three shield-bearing monstrosities disappeared under fire. The remaining monsters of the Heartless species were sliced away by two swords that came out of nowhere, but that came quickly.

I rubbed my forehead as the final smoke of the battle cleared to reveal three figures standing over me.

I glared, one hand finding my side in an effort to subdue the numb pain.

"What're _you_ lookin' at?" I grumbled moodily. An extremely tall swordswoman raised an eyebrow, sheathing her sword before crossing her arms.

"Must we _always_ save your butt, Kisaragi?" she said flatly, but with an underlying tone of amusement. I waved a finger at her rudely, making a face.

"Bite me and see how it tastes, Paine," I growled in response, pulling myself to my knees. I noticed that I was bleeding somewhat – it was an embarrassing sight, to be seen bleeding after such an easy fight. That's what _they_ would say, that's what _they_ would think. It just goes to show how much thoughts have been altered by the new winds of our life.

"I would say gladly, but I'm not that kind of girl," Paine responded, flicking a tress of her short hair from her face and turning to walk away. The heels of her boots clicked down the hall for a long time before disappearing entirely from my hearing.

I looked up at the two remaining warriors and glared again.

"Well!? Are ya just gonna stand there while I bleed ta death, or are ya gonna help me?" I yelled through gritted teeth. The second swordsman, and one of the best at NOVA, bent down to my level, shaking his head and rolling his eyes at the same time, while still managing not to look like an idiot, something I silently revered and wondered at.

"You're not hurt, you idiot," he said evenly, his snowy eyes shifting from the smallish gash on my side to my face and back again.

I lifted a hand to smack him, but refrained at the last minute and instead balled it into a fist on my knees.

_Squall_ was the idiot. He always called me that annoying name, from the day the Heartless attacked the Bastion that first time fourteen years ago to this very moment. He found every movement I did an insult to his swollen ego (and that's a typo on my part, since Squall _has_ no ego to speak of), and he found every second that I was near him a waste of his time; every action I performed was fit enough for a criticism from the great Lion, because oh-ho, what a world, he has the ability to make you feel so small with just a simple sentence.

"You jerk, Squall," I muttered, rising to my feet. "You wouldn't know anyway. I'm bleeding, and it's painful, and that's reason enough."

The ex-SeeD and current NOVA rolled his eyes again as he followed me, ascending to his full height, and gawd was he _tall_. Taller even than Paine, and she's one of the tallest people I know at NOVA, or anywhere even. I – me, at my five-feet-one-inch height – could've been taken for a kid – which in some cases was a good thing, in most cases a bad thing – but Squall – Squall and all six-foot-two-inches of him could be taken at any give moment for a giant. I don't know really why I compared my height with everyone else's from time to time. Perhaps it was my pride that made me sort of content with being the shortest of everyone I knew.

"Brat," was his immediate answer and he shook his head, his spiky grown locks flying to and fro. "And if you're so injured, the Infirmary door's down the hall to your left." He raised an eyebrow and turned to the opposite of direction he had indicated.

"I already know that, _Squall_," I said loudly enough for him to hear as he disappeared down the hall, just like Paine before him. Huffing with indignation, I turned toward the third and final fighter, muttering a low, "Idiot," on Squall's behalf.

Rikku. It would suffice to say that I hated her. She believed that just because she was compared to me more often than not – as well as the fact that she almost had the same middle name as I – she had the right to follow me around everywhere and criticize my every movement with an annoying, "I wouldn't do that if I were you." She was a shinobi like me, but then again, she owned a new device called a Garment Grid, and, in retrospect, could be anything she chose. The first word that comes to mind is _schizophrenic_, but Rikku's anything but that – she's annoying and pitifully naïve, with this high and squeaky voice that tends to get on the nerves if heard too much. I shouldn't have hated her – at times like these, we should never hate the people we fight on the same side as – but maybe I didn't, maybe I just disliked her greatly. I saw her as a rival, being that she's exactly the same height as me, with exactly the same shape in every way. She compared herself to me all the time, but she did it in a demeaning way on my end. Aerith, my best friend, told me that, when not around me, Rikku was just as happy-go-lucky as I used to be. But perhaps she feels the same unbidden enmity for me that I do for her.

Who knows? 

I glared through her strange green eyes, which at the moment held smug contempt. "What are _you_ lookin' at, huh?"

She shook her head, her much-longer-than-mine blonde semi-braided hair swinging – everyone's long hair does that; they swing, which is why I don't like it. It looks so stupid when you think about it.

"Nothing important," she answered, grinning a satisfied grin. "Just a pathetic little girl who can't stand a little cut."

I clucked my tongue at her, feeling my cheeks coloring with rage as I stared at her fiercely. "And since when did _I_ become the pathetic little girl, Rikku? If memory serves, it's usually _me_ who's saving yer ass from the grill."

She eyed me, her grin still pasted to her face like a stamp. She seemed not to acknowledge I'd said anything at all, which, if anything, infuriated me more. She cocked her head to the side and smiled, all teeth and all shine, but no happiness in it, and she walked away simply, allowing me to believe I had won.

When she was three paces away, she turned as if to add one final thing to our conversation.

"But what does that prove, Rae?" she said, calling me by the middle name only she would dare to say. "If ever I'm in trouble, it was always your fault in the first place, wasn't it?"

My cheeks colored again and my glare grew stronger, but Rikku didn't miss a beat and shrugged as if to say, "And that's the way it is," before turning away and disappearing.

I ground my teeth, my hands balling into fists, and I wondered what would have happened if I had gathered the energy and gall to punch her before she left.

_Rookie._

_She's just a rookie._

--

**p.o.v. Aerith**

Stories are meant to be listened to, just as thoughts and opinions and speeches are meant to be listened to. This applies especially when those stories and thoughts have something real to say. So many times, people have ignored what was so obviously there. They've ignored what was written or misinterpreted it by their own fault. But whenever this occurred, people accepted the mistake, corrected it, and moved on. Never has there been a different way of life. But what happened to Disney was not inevitable. Our future could have been altered, so unlike our past that can never change. But here's where it all began.

Five years ago, a fourteen-year-old boy sealed away the Heartless into the Kingdom of Hearts. Then, he thought he was sealing the Door to Darkness. Everyone said it was so; the King of the Kingdom knew it to be true. But maybe it was Ansem's dark and silent revenge, or maybe all of history has been written wrong, but even King Mickey was incorrect. Sora, the fourteen-year-old happy-go-lucky hero, shut the wrong door, the Door to Light. While the stars returned to their places in the sky and the army of Heartless disappeared, the peace that came from the Keybearer's struggle lasted only a short time.

It wasn't until a month or so after Sora disappeared that people realized he'd closed the wrong door.

The Darkness returned, and the worlds were connected again. The stars drained from the sky like dust swept away, and the monsters – oh the Heartless – returned with so much more power. No one knew how – even the Queen could not find answers. But it was clear to all that the Keybearer's sacrifice and mission had been in vain.

Or maybe, as someone said, it was all part of something else.

This single seed of negativity was planted into the heart of the Kingdom and spread like wildfire through us all. People became rebels and mutineers and openly planned to revolt against the Queen, whom they believed had done them wrong. Those very people who had preached that the King and Queen would grant them peace and rid them of the monsters now preached that our rulers had always planned for this, that they wanted the Kingdom to collapse on itself, that the entire thing was the King's fault.

The Kingdom was split in three – those who fought against the Kingdom, those who fought for it, and those who were not taking sides. Along with battles against Heartless came battles against those who had once been friends. Thus, from the ashes of this great conflict rose a new era in time. Traverse Town became Anamnesis City in barely a year – currently it is a place divided into ruthless organizations that stop at nothing and intelligent societies that work beneath the surface. Everyone knows it as the Underground, and no good person has a chance there.

Those of us who wanted nothing to do with this fight returned to the Hollow Bastion. Though it was filled with Heartless, warriors who had no other home helped to cleanse the place, mostly, of them, allowing the original citizens of Traverse Town to live there. They began to call it Traverse Town II – maybe it gave them comfort, but nobody ever argued the name. Maybe, deep down, it gave all of us comfort that something, even a name, had barely changed.

Then, three years ago, NOVA formed. The flow of Heartless ebbed for a while due to the efforts of this organization, which my closest comrades and I are now a part of. It originated in Traverse Town II, and helped only those who needed it, and only from the monsters known as Heartless – we weren't a charitable association, as some of us wavered in our decisions when it came to the Civil War going on, but we never actually helped a certain side in the battle either. NOVA was deemed to all as neutral, and so Traverse Town II was left alone by all sides.

The receding flow of Heartless only went so far though and, a year after NOVA was created, came back at us full force. While we barely managed to keep them away, we could not fight them off entirely, but we soon became the strongest defense against them. While the original Traverse Town was used for spies and mercenaries who fretted over the Civil War, the new Traverse Town fought against the real problem. It was strangely ironic, to put it lightly.

And then a year ago came the worst part. Until then, Queen Minnie had been continually asking NOVA for help, as she was having more problems with the rebels than the Heartless. Request after request, the leaders of NOVA refused, and the Hollow Bastion was steadfast in its decision to remain neutral in the growing war. Situations were steadily getting worse, and soldiers were being produced on every side. The Kingdom was a mess, and the most important people – the King and Sora – were still missing.

It was a year ago that the core of the End of the World collapsed on itself, destroying the planet and spewing millions upon millions of the black beings known as Heartless into the solar system, into the worlds. No one knew exactly how it happened, but many speculated that it was because of all the hatred circulating throughout the Kingdom that overloaded the End of the World, causing it to finally die. And in its own death, it brought more destruction.

With the devastation of the obscured planet of Disney, all the planets' alignments were shifted with the blast of energy and power that came from it. Though the only accessible way to this world was through a portal, the aftermath of the collapse filtered through the rest of the galaxy like spilt water on a marble counter. The portal itself – the black hole – served more as an offense than a defense for End of the World.

The Hollow Bastion was the first to be attacked by the onslaught of fiends. The leaders of NOVA created an army of powerful soldiers that swept through the world to defeat whatever monsters they could. It was a massacre – NOVA wasn't quick enough, some still say – and so many people died. And not just in the Hollow Bastion – all over the Kingdom, people in every planet were killed or injured as the Queen sent out as much of her own army as she could afford to help NOVA's, but it was never enough. The Queen was already fighting a battle against her own subjects, and amid all the fighting, the Heartless nearly took over everything.

But NOVA came through in the end; after all, it was a skilled union of fighters. The leaders, who had created an Academy at the time NOVA itself was made, recruited people off the streets and trained them in short time so NOVA would once again hold the upper hand against the Heartless.

We succeeded (to some extent) some time ago, and those spur-of-the-moment soldiers were sent back to the Academy full time to be trained to their highest extent. The Heartless were subdued – for the moment – and while tensions were high and the Kingdom was still in a shambles, at least some people knew that NOVA knew what it was doing, and took comfort in knowing they would be safe.

For the moment.

It was always 'for the moment' when it came to the things that no one knew. Before, people would always think about the future but they relaxed easier knowing the present was now, and the future would come in good time. But now, however, people worry about the past, present and future like the Fates, always thinking they're alive, but 'for the moment', always thinking that they're happy 'for the moment'. No one can live under these conditions, and barely a soul has smiled since it all began.

It's as if the only purpose that exists anymore is survival, because we _can_ survive, and whether or not we have a happy future is up to the Fates themselves. Not many believe we have a future anymore, though. A lot of them believe that all these battles being fought – the war against the rebels, the war against the Heartless – will be what ends the Kingdom of Disney altogether.

We had it coming, they'll tell you.

But I can tell you that the entire clash was built on lies and confused sentiments to what could not have been avoided because history said it couldn't. Maybe this was all inevitable, but there are still some of us who believe there was a different way to go, a way that still exists. And then there are those who'll tell you to quit dreaming and stay on the planes of reality because reality is all we have left, reality is all that exists.

There's no more hope for us, they say.

And god, how I want to tell them they're wrong. Everyday, I hope and pray for the survival of the Kingdom. Because we _can_ survive – we just need hope, which is so easy to attain. We just need strength, which we can build from victory and happiness. We just need friendship and amity between us all, or we will never get through the problems that have gotten us where we are today. It's not fair that those of us, who believe the sun will someday shine through the dark clouds, are shunned because no one else believes this is so.

We were once a Kingdom built on hope and happiness.

It's strange how much the times have changed.

--

**p.o.v. Yuffie**

"It's just a small gash," said Aerith's soft voice and I turned toward its source, sighing. "Nothing to worry over." She smiled that bedazzling smile of hers and I knew I'd feel guilty if I didn't smile back to assure her I was the slightest bit happy, so I grinned crookedly.

"Yah," I mumbled, scooting off the table and to my feet. "But I wasn't worrying." The last part for some reason came out sounding snide, but Aerith's smile didn't falter, and she didn't blink suddenly, but she did turn away to begin cleaning up whatever nonexistent mess she thought existed. Really she was the neatest person alive, even when she was in a rush or doing a million things at once, which she tended to do. I didn't know what mess she saw.

I stayed there in the empty side room of the Infirmary – which, because of the many medical rooms throughout the castle, was labeled 'Infirmary III' – with Aerith until she had finished her duties and then I followed her out into the main room, watching her quietly from the door while she went around to the various patients lying on cots in their separate curtain-surrounded cubicles. A young man, maybe a visitor, sat beside the nearest cot, reading to an unconscious woman, and at the end of the room, by the window, sat a little girl, a teenage woman, and an elderly man, looking edgy and anxious, speaking together in low whispers and then with Aerith as she passed by.

When Aerith returned to where I stood, she pulled off her white doctor's coat, revealing her orange t-shirt and denim skirt. I shook my head at the white scarf she draped around her neck as she opened the door and another nurse walked in, nodding fleetingly.

"Good afternoon, Gia," the nurse said quietly. Aerith's semi-surname 'Gia' originated from her full last name, Gainsborough, since it was hard to say it quickly.

"Afternoon Sizuno." Aerith's response this time. Quiet, like all the others, but kind and reassuring, as though it was trained. And in all truth, she was trained – trained to smile at her patients and lie to them when she tells them they're not dying and they really are. The Aerith of the Infirmary lied and smiled for the patients' benefits, and her smiles weren't real when she lied. But Aerith knew how to lie through her smiles, and smile through her lies; it was how the harsh professors of the Academy trained her. Those very professors who kept telling her that it was the only way to bid happiness to those who had no need for it anymore.

_Lies._

We entered the hall, where previously our battle had taken place, and turned toward the direction the others had left toward much earlier on. Our silence seemed out of place in the big, echoing halls. But these wary silences had befallen us more and more often over the years since the First Heartless Era. Maybe it was the feeling of hate that lay beneath the surface of everything these days that stuck walls of invisible glass between our friendships and us. There are a lot of maybes in the worlds of today, and it's this uncertainty and hesitation about life that's ruining us, I think.

"How have you been?" she asked after a while, looking down at her feet as though she were timing her steps and not speaking to me, which irritated me somewhat.

"Fine," I said simply, knowing how scripted the conversation already seemed. It couldn't have been more planned out if it really was a script we were repeating.

"That's good to hear," she answered, still timing her steps. Right foot, left foot; one step, two step. It was a dance to her, something rehearsed, something certain. Not another maybe; we had too many of those.

"What about you?" I forced a worried tone into my otherwise plain voice for Aerith's benefit. Maybe it would get her to look up at me finally. She was my best friend, and she always had been, but, as I said, lately I hadn't been able to actually look her in the eyes and tell her how I felt when she asked, because I knew she really wanted to know. We all knew that our scripted conversations were just…shrouds, for lack of a better word. Shrouds that hid our true feelings because they couldn't be seen.

It didn't work, however; Aerith remained with her head bowed. "I've been fine." That was all I got out of her; I knew that was all I could get out of her. We reached a staircase that I think led down to the main anteroom, before the Library. Beside that flight of stairs, another led upward, to more rooms and another Infirmary.

I turned toward Aerith, but she wasn't actually looking at me. She was looking at the stairs as though it was her sanctuary, her path to heaven. I felt my imaginary ears droop in sadness.

"Um…Aerith?" I whispered, feeling my insides melt at how vulnerable I sounded just then. I've always hated being vulnerable; _sounding_ vulnerable was even worse, because you didn't need to see to know.

But I think it was this moment of vulnerability that made Aerith finally turn to me. She was lovely, a beautiful young woman of twenty-six who'd seen far too much of the worlds, like me. A few years prior, she cropped her stunning auburn hair to only her shoulders, and she no longer did anything with it besides stick it in a semi-loose/tight bun. When I actually asked her why she did that to her hair, she said it was because she needed to keep her hair out of her face when she worked on her patients. I thought that was bullshit. Reasons can only go so far, but excuses make no sense.

She had pretty green eyes as well, eyes that used to shine with happiness whenever they looked upon something, no matter what it was. She used to hold a love for just about everything, with such a kindness as the worlds have never seen. I don't know what happened to that Aerith. I think she's locked herself away from what's become of us, leaving this shadow of Aerith behind. It's sad. It's strange. Like everything else.

"Yes, Yuffie?" she asked, in that selfsame hushed voice she's always using. I wanted to slap her and tell her to let the other Aerith back out. _We need that other Aerith; please let her out! _She used to be my pillar of strength, because she radiated hope. This Aerith is not her and never will be.

I looked down for a minute, fidgeting, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. I clutched at the leather pouch that hung from my belt, feeling the encouraging weight of my shurikens, and I looked up.

"What happened…?" _To us?_ I didn't voice the rest of the question, but I knew Aerith knew what I meant. Her eyes widened a little at how suddenly the question came. Maybe she knew it would always come. Maybe she thought she'd never be able to answer it when it did.

It was a long time that we stood at the base of two stairs in silence, staring at each other in both misery and worry. But Aerith did answer; she always had an answer.

"Time did, Yuffie," she murmured, starting up the steps to Infirmary IV. "Time."

_Time._

Time happened to people, she means. With all the maybes and all the 'for the moments' and all the buts and all that stuff…it was kind of obvious, wasn't it, though? Time. A simple answer to a simple question.

--

**p.o.v. Aerith**

I saw the world in black and white, so yes you could call me narrow-minded. Times like these practically advertised for narrow-minded people. It was either you were good or bad. That's all that mattered as to which side you were on. Even though there were three sides, only two mattered, and only one fight was real. The other fight was just something the people created because they took comfort in believing something else was true rather than believing that their rulers – the people who they always thought would protect them and keep them safe – had made an unavoidable mistake. Those people don't want to feel safe in the protection of someone who makes mistakes.

But one question that people are always asking is not, 'Why have the wars started?' They ask, 'How did we get this way?' They ask, 'What has happened to us?'

Time did. Time happened to us.

The answer was obvious and easily figured out, I think. And I always thought Yuffie, with all her childish tomfoolery and all her juvenile antics and all her habitual youngness, would be the first to figure it out. After all, they say the young are the wisest of us all, for their innocence sees what the tainted cannot.

But maybe that question of 'What happened?' requires an answer not from the intelligent, not from the young, but from the elders, from the wise.

However, I never got to thinking along those lines until I left Yuffie standing there at the base of the steps. When she asked me, I felt shocked, for some reason, because I never knew it would be Yuffie of all people who would ask such a complicated question.

_The question is complex,_ Cloud said. _It's the answer that seems most simple._

Usually it's the other way around.

"Um…Aerith?" she had asked. Her voice still held traces of her childhood in it. She was already twenty-one, but she was one of those people who would never fully, completely grow up. I knew her too well – she would always be the youngest of the group, no matter how much time went by.

At that moment, though, I felt this underlying tone of regret, or maybe pain, radiating from her, and I had no choice but to give her my full attention. For so long I've avoided her, nearly went so far as to ignore her, but she was my best friend and my little sister in every aspect of the word. There are times when you run out of reasons, and excuses are hard to come by.

"Yes, Yuffie?" I'd answered her. What was she going to ask? What was she going to say? Perhaps she wanted to talk. Oh, how I missed talking to her. She may have been a little immature in her younger years, but she knew how to talk and what to talk about and at times she knew exactly what to say.

"What happened?" I heard the rest of the question, even though the words remained unsaid. _'What happened…to us?'_ I wish I knew a better answer than the one that came to mind, but as bad as it sounded in my head, it also sounded very fitting. I thought over it, twisting it, trying to find some hidden meaning that would make Yuffie understand, because I didn't know if she'd understand a simple answer such as the one I had no choice but to give.

I stared at her in silence for a long time, and she stared back. She'd grown so much over so long a time. I remember how she'd nearly kill me for just suggesting she let her onyx hair grow any longer than her ears. That was up until she turned eighteen. Then, her duties called away all the time she had to herself. Hair no longer bothered her, and it now reached her shoulder blades at her back in the layers and waves my own hair used to hold.

She was now twenty-one and an exquisite young woman with stunning blue eyes that haven't yet failed in holding that fiery stubbornness and 'annoyance' as Cloud, Cid, and pretty much everyone take pleasure in pointing out. Her form was still slight and small, and her talents of sneaking around with the lightness of a feather still held strong, making her, surprisingly to others, one of the best fighters in NOVA.

"Time did, Yuffie," I finally whispered to her, and turned to walk up the staircase, where I was sure I'd be needed. "Time."

Time is such a necessity today. The leaders of NOVA, as we continuously refer to as the 'Enigmatic Men', are always saying that they need more time. We are like a bustling city, always looking for more time, always working too fast or walking too slow and always needing _time_.

As Yuffie would have said, this sucks.

I opened the metal door as silently as I could and walked in, looking around the white medical attention room. There were three other Healers, another nurse, and two doctors. I was a Healer, which meant I served as a nurse and doctor and a healer-by-magic. I've always wanted to help people in every way I could. I just never thought my healing abilities and my medical skills would ever be required in a place and time such as now.

Slipping a white coat over my regular outfit and pulling my white scarf from my neck to drape over a coat hook, I looked toward the nearest doctor.

She was a woman with two-toned eyes and short brown hair, and she wasn't normally seen so saddened. I'd heard she'd been a traveler earlier in her years, and she confirmed the rumor when I asked her not too long ago.

"Yuna?" I whispered, trying hard to think what could possibly make this eternally happy girl stand on the brink of tears. Even the times never seemed to bring her too far down.

"Aerith, I – " she began, but then a rather loud _blip_ rang out through the room and all heads turned toward one of the five visitors. He had spiky yellow hair but a solemn face, and Yuna seemed to know him, for she shot him a sterner look than the medical attendants and I.

"Tidus, I told you," Yuna walked over to him, speaking in a rushed whisper, "when you're in the infirmary, please shut that thing off or don't bring it at all!"

The blonde man known as 'Tidus' gave us all apologetic looks, but otherwise didn't answer, instead leaving the room right away. Being so close to the door, I heard him talking through a Gummi Communicator as soon as he left the room, leaving the Infirmary door open behind him.

"Tom, Dick, and Harry reporting," he said quickly. The round object crackled and then a voice responded.

"Ushiro," came a grave but commanding voice, "Report to the Library for an emergency conference at eighteen-hundred." The communicator blipped again and was silent. Tidus probably felt my gaze and looked up with a somber appearance.

"You shouldn't have heard that," he groaned, just now noticing who I was. It was all well known that everyone in the Hollow Bastion was on the same side, because the Enigmatic Men disallowed unauthorized entrances and exits, watching all means of travel with a critical eye, so enemies and spies were never a question. But still, all the fighters, all the soldiers, all the men and women of the NOVA-trained army were supposed to be secretive in their missions, whatever they may be, and though the Traverseans were given a vague idea of what NOVA sent their people out to do, nothing was ever certain and nothing ever should be. Something such as what I just did – eavesdropping on what could have been a very confidential, very crucial call – was something that could have consequences the likes of which I would never be able to deal with.

But I was neither a spy, nor an enemy, of NOVA or any of the people in Traverse Town II. The catch was that the Enigmatic Men didn't care – rules were rules that were meant to be abided by, and if rules were never broken in the first place, we wouldn't be where we are today. It's sickening, but it's a law I've learned to live with. While we're not any kind of democracy or monarchy or have really any type of government, we still have certain rules to be abided by. The sad part is that not calling ourselves part of a monarchy anymore means we're almost like the rebels – we broke away, in an attempt to free ourselves from the Civil War.

I sighed inwardly at the wary look I received from Tidus Ushiro. I wondered if he would report me as an eavesdropper that could be a spy. It wasn't impossible, in his mind at least. That's how he was trained – question and challenge everything.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help…" I began and trailed off, this time sighing aloud and glancing over my shoulder. I took a breath, nodding toward him and putting on the face of the nurse telling her patient everything will be all right.

"Sir, it's nearly six o'clock," I told him soothingly. "You should go. I'll tell Yuna you had to leave, but I won't say anything else." Tidus looked only the slightest bit reassured, nodding, and started at a run down the hall. Obviously, whatever it was that the man on the other end of that line said, it was importance in its gravest form. I closed the door with as little noise as I could make and turned toward the only person now paying attention.

"Aerith?" Yuna said quietly and I shook my head, going over to one of the side rooms to begin my work.

_An emergency conference? That could mean a lot of things._

Yuna followed me into the room, and together we worked silently at preparing the things the doctors would need. Yuna didn't have to, really – she was certified only as a doctor, but I knew what she wanted me to tell her. I just wasn't sure if I should.

A head popped into the room; another Healer, by the name of Kale Trima. She looked as grim as Yuna had earlier.

"We have three fighters coming in," she said, motioning for us to follow her. We quickly stopped what we were doing and walked out of the room with her. "None of them have been identified yet. One is bleeding internally, the woman is poisoned, and the third…" Kale left her sentence hanging like a broken thread and I held my breath, unable to ask what happened to the third.

But Yuna had the strength and courage to do so. "And the third?"

Kale shook her head, remaining silent as three stretchers were wheeled into the room. The doctor shouted an order at me, as well as the two other Healers, Lenne and Jina. The nurse, Kat, and Yuna helped wheel the two heavy men and the one woman into separate rooms.

I won't say it's strange. It's just something I should have gotten used to a long time ago. 

--

_End Chapter One_


	2. Chapter Two

**Till Dawn Meets the Sky**

**written by **_Araclyzm_

_Chapter Two_

**p.o.v. Yuffie**

I never liked change much.

I'd even go so far as to say I hate it. I like tradition, and continuousness, and the unchanged, because they're certain, and because they are predictably predictable. It's reliable; it's the _same_. Change was…uncertain. It was new-ness at every corner; it was a hot summer day after a cold winter night. Change made everything have less meaning, because everything never had time to earn it. Change was change; it never stayed the same.

I took comfort, when I was younger, in things that never changed, because I knew what was going on and that meant I was safe, until the inevitable time came that change would chance her face. I was naïve then; it was a restless and morose world that I lived in, and yet I never really stopped to think that time could slip from my fingers just as easily as images disappear from the memory. And with the disappearance of time comes the appearance of change, and gawd did reality give me a good one-two when I became the utmost aware of what was going on around me.

It wasn't my choice to make. I loved myself then, but not in that overly dramatic, egotistical type of way. I was _content_ with how I was, and then it all changed, and suddenly I hated who I was becoming, who I had become. People always said that the event fourteen years ago forced me, the littlest and youngest survivor of them all, to grow up much faster than I should have. Maybe they were right and maybe they were wrong. I don't care much now, and I don't think I ever did. But one thing is certain: I never truly grew up.

But I have grown up to some extent. After all, it's been so long. Fourteen years ago, I was seven, and young and stupid and completely full of the innocence that's lost so easily. Five years ago, I was sixteen and foolish and optimistic and every inch your immature little brat. Today, while still maintaining something of my persona of old, I have no choice but to be serious when someone commands it, because I don't have control over anything anymore, and because if I refuse to listen, then I refuse to live. Rules rule this time and place, rules that were broken so many times before. I really never liked rules; I broke them and bent them to every degree I could when I was younger. Now, I dare not even _poke_ them. Like I said, it wasn't my choice to make in terms of who I am now. I don't have a hand or choice or call in anything that goes on today. I just fight for what they tell us is right.

It was only a few minutes after Aerith disappeared upstairs that a loud blip ripped me from my streaming thoughts. _My communicator._ I sucked in a breath; pulled the round and abnormally soft object from my pouch; held the button; and spoke.

"Seventh ver-" I began, only to be cut off by a very gruff and static-filled voice that dripped sarcasm and cigar smoke.

"Kisaragi," it barked, loud enough for the entire castle to hear. I felt like snapping back, but the man was my superior; I had no more right to tell him to shut his face than I had the right to rewind time.

"Here, sir," I bit out, holding the comments that wished to burst forward.

"Report to the Library in five minutes," was the only thing the man on the other end of the line said afterwards. Then the gummi blipped, the sound was lost, and I was left alone in the hall again, wondering what it was now that those annoying leaders wanted from me.

Besides my ability to fight. Besides my ability to spy.

"Got it," I mumbled to myself, fighting down the urge to call back and curse at him. Seifer Almasy had some nerve – I hated him so much more than I hated Rikku. Everyone who worked beneath him did. It was the natural _human_ reaction to such a dick.

"You know, you shouldn't make a habit of that."

Instinct told me to wheel around. Common sense told me to look.

So I did.

I felt like growling, I was in such a foul mood. But the feeling didn't last; when it came to Squall Leonhart, these other feelings rarely do.

"I shouldn't make what a habit, Squall?"

The man flinched.

It wasn't as if he really, truly hated his real name. The time when he insisted upon being called Leon had passed like a faze in a teenager's life. Five years did that to people, after all. Now, though, no one really knew what to call him. I called him Squall; I'd never ceased in doing that, but it seemed he wasn't yet ready to accept his name again. People more often than not called him Leon. He didn't seem to care much. No one really did. But everyone knew him as Leonhart.

He was, in every way, a Leonhart. His family was a powerful clan, with prestige and power and intelligence and beauty passed down through the ages. And truly, Squall's family was beautiful in every way. Now at the age of twenty-eight, Squall himself had inherited the blue eyes the Leonharts were admired and envied for – deep cerulean eyes that held dark, unfathomable secrets, the likes of which no one can ever create or even comprehend. They were eyes that went perfectly with who Squall pretended to be: a cold, heartless bastard. Of course, that was not who he truly was. Seifer Almasy was a cold, heartless bastard, but not Squall Leonhart.

Squall pretended I hadn't said his name. "Talking to yourself. Not only does it get annoying to overhear, but it gets unnerving to know the people you work with have no touch with reality."

I felt my temper rise ever so slightly at his not-so-subtle attack on my sanity. I grumbled this time and quickly thought of a retort. "Talking to myself isn't against any laws that I know about," I told him, rolling my eyes as my left hand met my hip. "What you should worry about, though, is if I answer. Then we'll have a problem." I smiled at my own cleverness. To my eternal surprise, so did Squall.

"Touché," he responded, softly. Gawd, how soft his voice could become – the ability was paralleled only by how hard and horrible it could become as well. He was just standing there, his arms crossed as always, his eyes watching me with a heavy thoughtfulness. I hadn't heard him come up behind me. I was too busy thinking, which is something I don't exactly opt to do.

I felt my head lean forward as if to inspect him. The chilled blue of his eyes matched the darkish tawny of the hair that fell with a natural eloquence to his shoulders in spikes that he seemed to have been born with. It was a fact to all that he was handsome and untouchable. Though girls so often vied for his attention, everyone knew he was beyond their reach. Those very girls secretly resented the only ones who were somewhat close to him – namely Aerith and I. It was no secret. It did get annoying.

I blinked as if I'd had a sudden revelation, and Squall looked at me as though he expected me to tell him what it was.

I smiled cheekily. "Where've you been all morning?"

He shrugged his shoulders, draped with the leather of the jacket he wore as of the beginning of the winter season. The fur that decorated the collar was matted down with melted snow, probably, and while the coat itself was unbuttoned, revealing the usual white t-shirt decorated only by the silver lion's head pendant and chain, there was definitely some sign that Squall had been outside.

"Out." Well, that confirmed it. _Out_; another simple answer to another simple question. He raised an eyebrow; _why'd you ask?_

I imitated his earlier gesture of _whatever_. "Just wondering." I hesitated a split second before I spoke again. "Um…did you get a call?" The semi-friendly air of our smallish conversation evaporated like mist quickly and I felt my face become hard.

Squall's did, too. He nodded once. Then he took one step and was beside me. Another step and he had already started down the stairs.

I quickly followed.

This may seem strange, but I felt more comfortable around Squall than I did around Aerith. It used to be that Aerith was my safe haven from the world, my shelter and my reassurance. Squall was what she saved me from; whenever he would yell at me, it was always Aerith that I would run to, to be consoled. Now, as time went by, they seemed to have switched places, though not entirely. An invisible _something _cut at the friendship I had with Aerith. But I think the reason my relationship with Squall hadn't changed was because we were never truly friends.

Or it could be something else. The fact that I've loved him for such a long time is by no means to be forgotten. Or pushed aside.

I smiled to myself.

Yes, much has changed. But not everything.

_No. Not everything._

--

The room was stuffy and dark, unusual for so big an area. Well, it wasn't _that_ big – it was only a side room to the even bigger Library beside it. Someone puffed on a heady cigarette, making a young girl in the back of the large rectangular room cough loudly enough to attract the criticizing attention of some of the older warriors. Two people drummed their fingers on the mahogany table to almost the exact same rhythm. Everyone stared at one another. Someone's chair creaked.

The man standing at the head of the room looked on at the group of people assembled. He was elderly and balding, while still maintaining two patches of gray hair on each side of his skull. His eyes were round but bland, weary but alert. He himself walked and stood with the oldness of a soldier who'd fought a lot through his time. It was hard not to admire him.

"Captain Sajouin?" someone said, finally breaking the strange silence that shouldn't have existed. The man that was built to be admired didn't blink; his eyes moved to the speaker. It was a man in his mid-thirties, perhaps, and he stood by a round door opposite the apparent leader of the room.

"General?" Sajouin replied, his lips barely moving but somehow managing to ring out clear. Another chair creaked.

"All those called are present and accounted for," the general said, bowing his head once in respect.

"Good." Sajouin turned his gaze toward the table, at those amassed into seats and those standing. Then he sighed, an old weary sigh, and I felt myself grow agitated. Something was most definitely wrong.

From the corner of my eye, I saw another woman rise from her seat and walk toward Sajouin. She was the twenty-nine-year-old Quistis Trepe, a former instructor from Balamb Garden and a current instructor for the Bastion Academy.

Fortunately, she was also the woman I complained to.

"The Heartless situation has gotten worse," Quistis began. Her voice was simple, unsmiling, and to the point, which proved my earlier thought that something must be wrong; Quistis lacked the stern demeanor for which the Enigmatic Men used. She wasn't normally seen so grim.

"The Queen and the subjects of hers that haven't rebelled are trying to create an armistice with the insurgents." I felt question marks pop into my eyes. _Armistice? Insurgents? Right…concentrate, concentrate! _"The mutineers seem to be willing to agree. But only for one reason: every day, the people of the kingdom grow more and more fearful of the Heartless."

Sajouin chose now to step in. "The war is drawing to a final close. Perhaps it is already done. But if so, in the near future we may be faced with a draft."

Someone coughed. "A draft?" the voice said, seeming surprised. "Can the Queen really do that?"

Quistis gave the speaker a hard look. "Yes. If the war ends, we're no longer a neutral world; by law, we must return to the kingdom. And if that happens, we are under the Queen's word. If she decides it, then we'll have no choice but to comply."

"Of course she'll come to NOVA first," Sajouin said. "We have always been the frontline of defense against the Heartless. As of late, however, the enemy has grown more powerful, and is overcoming our forces easily." Silence for a split second. "We're running out of resources. And time."

There was a pause.

"Is there a reason for this?" I looked over my shoulder in silent shock. Squall was leaning against the wall, as always, behind my chair, his arms crossed in their usual position. He never spoke at these things; I never knew why, but he didn't.

Quistis merely looked at him. She said nothing.

Then, "A reason for what?"

Squall stared back. "For the overabundance of Heartless. We had it under control three years ago, and managed to subdue them until now, even after End of the World crumpled. Is there a reason the Heartless keep coming back?"

"Besides the fact that the Keybearer is still gone?" a different voice joined in this time. I looked over at its source – Cloud Strife. "And the king, too? There is no one here that the Heartless fear, not even us. They hold the Keybearer…and he holds the Key."

I took a deep breath, wanting, for some reason, to join in the argument. Both Cloud and Squall were my friends (to some extent). I felt…left out, I guess.

"So there really is no way to stop it," I heard myself whisper. Several faces met mine; I felt my heart stop at the sudden attention and a dark rouge settled on my face.

Sajouin sighed again. "You might not think so, Kisaragi. I'm sure half of the people in this room don't." He pulled up a chair and sat in it. "But either way–"

The door beside the general from earlier burst open and a messenger practically stumbled in. My eyes narrowed at his windswept appearance; he'd been running.

Something was wrong. 

"Captain!" the word spilled from the messenger's mouth. In his right hand, he held a clipboard, with the papers that were clipped to it nearly falling to the ground. "Urgent news from the board."

Sajouin rose to his feet immediately. Quistis made to follow him, but Sajouin shook his head quickly and followed the general outside of the room. The rest of the room erupted into hurried whispers like a classroom of students after the teacher left the room. I swiveled in my seat to look at Squall, giving him a look that ended with a question mark. He just shrugged, and then shook his head. More chairs creaked; the man smoking put the cigarette out.

I turned back around; Quistis was staring at the door Sajouin and the messenger had disappeared out of, a strange look on her face. Maybe she knew what was going on? Maybe the war was over. Cloud had moved from his position on the other side of the room and was now standing beside Squall, speaking with a much lower pitch than the rest of the room. I was _alone_, or at least I felt it. Looking around (and feeling really stupid doing it), I managed to catch a few bits of conversation.

"…Do you think it's over?"

"…Must be…"

"…Queen wouldn't…"

"…Really…"

"Finally, my lord…"

"…Scared…?"

_Scared._ Who in this room was really scared? No one, I think. It's an insult and an embarrassment to be scared. All the people present in this time and place are soldiers not built nor trained nor wrought to be scared.

I felt someone tap me on the shoulder and looked up to see whom it had been. I blinked once. Then I glared.

"What do you want?" I hissed, my voice rising above the level of everyone else's. The room quieted to witness the confrontation like school children watching a fight.

Rikku blinked down at me, for once not at all looking arrogant when it came to me. "I asked you if you were scared."

I didn't let her change of face get to me right away; I continued to glare, though beneath the surface, I was puzzling over why she'd asked at all. "Do I _look_ scared, Tenoh?" I was ignorant of the stares we were collecting; Rikku was probably ignoring them too.

She shook her head quickly, a saddened look entering her features.

"No, I was just–" The door opened again and she quickly shut up as all eyes reverted to it.

Sajouin entered.

His look said all we had to know.

--

'_With the signing of the Armistice Accord, which occurred on December twelve in the year of fifteen A. H. B. (After the Heartless Beginning) at the Olympus Coliseum in the Disney Kingdom, the battles fought over a course of five years were formally and fully closed over a treaty of peace between Rebel and Union.' _

That was how the document began. The 'proclamation' was issued the day after our 'meeting'. It went on to say how 'righteousness will be achieved, peace restored, and all disagreements put to rest.' I only had to read the first paragraph (no, actually, the first line; Cloud dryly joked that I read only the first word) before I became predictably bored and ran away, leaving the others to finish reading it.

It has been barely a week since the ending of the war, and this morning another decree was sent to every world, every city.

_The draft._

The draft was something that didn't really exist per say…well, it did exist. It was a law the King himself created way before I was even born. _'In times of war,'_ as it was written, _'all warriors of the kingdom have a solemn but discretionary duty to uphold, in which to be fulfilled only by volunteer. Though, by call of draft, the movement and decision to participate in the King and/or Queen's army is obligatory.'_ It meant, I think (according to what Aerith told me once upon a time), that anyone who could fight and who hasn't already volunteered might be drafted anyway. But back to my point: as there haven't been any real wars to speak of (just tons and tons of battles against Heartless), the draft (it should be with a capital 'd' since everyone speaks of it that way) was considered nonexistent, or ignored. Now that it's come to kick us all in the butt like karma on a naughty little kid, people are more surprised than afraid.

They should be afraid, though – that's what I think. The Civil War itself had no tactic on the Rebel side, and the Union never had much time to create a tactic, which was one reason why the battle never got too far. The other reason was the heartless; NOVA held them off for a while, but it wasn't an organized fight. We were just combatants that rushed into battle. While I'm sure the infamous Enigmatic Men screamed tactics and orders left and right, it wasn't necessarily announced and discussed with the people who put their lives on the line.

My point, though, is that once soldiers are drafted into the Queen's army, then they have no choice but to come and live under stars and on rationed foods wherever the next battle will be fought. Contact to loved ones is lessened to once every two months at best. It's weird to think that these forces, of all forces, would be so harsh, but the kingdoms who think the least of fighting are the ones who fight the hardest.

It was three hours after the draft edict that our former gummi mechanic of the original Traverse Town (Anamnesis City will take a while to dismantle), named Cid, was called into Sajouin's office to meet with one of the 'upper' leaders as well as Sajouin himself. When he returned to the Library a half hour after his 'meeting,' he would only tell us that the Queen herself had specifically asked for Cid Highwind. For what, it was obvious, but he didn't say.

It was two days later that Cloud received a summons. A bunch of nurses that I knew were asked to run infirmaries, but Aerith was required to stay behind as one of the Healers. Teenagers out of the Bastion Academy including Rikku Tenoh and a child prodigy named Lessandra Zatile were called in to see Almasy, Sajouin, Trepe and all the other leaders who were just one level below the Enigmatic Men themselves. NOVA's fighters were being called upon like chickens in a slaughterhouse.

Then, on December twenty-fourth, I was asked to see Quistis Trepe.

"Yuffie," Miss Trepe said through the gummi I always carried; she called everyone by his or her first name except those that were above her in status, "come to my office immediately."

The communicator bleeped into silence.

--

I wouldn't say it was my death sentence. After all, aren't all soldiers built to be honorable and worthy of their duties? I should have been proud. But my pride, while powerful, never really…dipped its toe in _that_ neck of the woods. For lack of anything else that wouldn't sound stupid.

Not that this didn't sound stupid.

But anyway.

I was in the Waterway, one of my favorite haunts, lying on a dark beam near the ceiling when Quistis called me. My first reaction to what she said was frustration that I was once again bothered from one of the things I rarely got to do. Then it was slight confusion. Then, it was resignation.

I dropped down from my perch, scaring some nearby rats, and flew to the nearest elevator. It went painfully fast to the first floor, and then after two seconds of deciding, I took the stairs, stepping two at a time. When I reached the fifth floor, I ran down the eerily silent corridor, went right at the first turn, and walked two doors down to my destination.

Squall was waiting for me when I arrived at Quistis' office.

--

The room was big enough for Trepe's high status components, plus a few extra things in between. In some ways, I envied the woman's rank and abilities, but I also admired her. While she wasn't as strict as the rest of the professors at the Academy, which decreased her general reputation as a good teacher among the elders, she was also firm and a woman of her word. The students looked up to her, even more than Sajouin, who practically demanded respect without actually _demanding_ it.

Both Squall and myself stood at attention (at ease?) before the medium-sized wooden desk that belonged to Quistis. It was piled to the bursting (or falling) with papers and pencils, most which were either broken, bitten, or half used. A Styrofoam cup standing on a nearby shelf (which was also piled with papers and books) gave off the unmistakable scent of stale coffee. A garbage can beneath the shelf was overflowing with crumpled papers. On the other side of the large room was a long, tall window that took up almost the entire wall.

Apparently, being nice went hand in hand with being utterly _messy_.

Quistis herself was sitting in a one of those cushioned wheel-y chairs that just makes you want to spin around in them till you get dizzy and fall over, watching the world churn like a washing machine window in front of you. I used to do that as a child, when I was five years old. Yeah. Good times. Always got into trouble though, especially when I ran into my father like a drunkard.

She looked up at Squall and I with a surprising intensity, as though she was about to tell us that indeed we'd been drafted into the military. There was no doubt in my mind that we were.

"Leon," she said, inclining her head an inch or so. Her gaze went to me. "Yuffie."

I mimicked her. "General Trepe."

She looked amused at that. I felt like I had to smile.

"Quistis," Leon said, his voice a flat line. I gave him a look to match that. Just because he had a past with the not-so-famous icon of the former Balamb Garden didn't justify him being rude. But Quistis only smiled, then let it fade away.

"If you're wondering why you're here," she began, directing her full attention only to me, for some reason, "then you don't have much to truly worry about. You haven't been called to war or your death sentence." The eyes behind her spectacles blinked once. "So stop fidgeting."

I stopped, but I hadn't realized I was in the first place.

"I have a semi-complicated problem on my hands, and it involves you two." I glanced at Squall; he didn't move. Quistis looked down at a piece of parchment that stood out from the rest because it was in her hand. "While you, Yuffie, were not drafted, you, Squall," she looked up at said man, "were."

If I had been cereal, I would have gone _snap_, _crackle_, _pop_.

I saw Squall's eyes widen for a split second in surprise, then narrow in his usual cold stare. I could tell, from the so many years that I've known him, almost exactly what he was thinking. Squall and I had always considered ourselves partners, or, at least, I did. It had always been this _arrangement_ of sorts, where we balanced each other's strengths and weaknesses out in uncanny fashion. I mean, it's kind of obvious, right? Squall was big, I was petite; Squall was clumsy, I was nimble. Squall was this, but I was that. Both my and Squall's abilities were used to their fullest extent when we worked together. It had always been that way.

And it was no secret that without one, the other couldn't concentrate enough to work. Maybe it was out of habit that we needed each other to balance out our acts, but there was barely ever a time we'd been separate – when it came to fighting, anyhow. I was Squall's shadow, the thorn in his side, the pebble in his shoe. The puns and overused clichés could go on forever, folks. Anyway, fact of the matter is: we were partners, clear and simple.

I was the only one who spoke into the few minutes of silence that surrounded us after Quistis told us the reason she needed us there.

"What do you mean, _Squall was drafted and I wasn't?_" I burst out, beyond just fidgeting now. For the first time in a long while, I felt like dying would have been a small kindness when faced with the prospect that I was expected to stay behind while Squall – Squall, the man that I've come to love, the man who'd unknowingly been my idol for years, the same man who could either drive me insane or calm me if he so chose it – went to _war_.

"You can't be serious!" I continued, completely forgetting all codes of conduct or rules that someone of my lowly rank owed to someone like Quistis. "But we're _partners_, they can't expect to just send one and not the other!"

Okay, so it wasn't a very good excuse, but it was one nonetheless.

Quistis's eyes had softened while I ranted; obviously she knew how I felt about being separated from Squall. But she, just like I, knew what had to be done.

So, instead of consoling me, as I knew she would've done had it been an entirely different case, she hardened her features and glared – perhaps because she also knew it was the only way to get through to me.

"Miss Kisaragi, mind your order. I won't tolerate insubordination." She dropped the paper she'd been holding on her littered desk and stood, propping the palms of her hands on to the edges and leaning her weight against them in a stance of a superior. "It was specifically arranged that you be assigned to the Bastion's own protection. The Queen asked for warriors, but we need our own source of power to protect the citizens _here_." Quistis shook her head to emphasize her point. "We have no other choice but to separate you two. Both of you are powerful, intelligent." I would have glowed at the praise if I were in a different situation. "I don't know what these people are thinking, but I have no say in what they decide. And right now, they decide that you, Mister Leonhart, are going to join Minnie's army two days hence, and you, Miss Kisaragi, will join NOVA's."

She took a deep breath, and I felt myself run out of arguments. She sounded so _old_, like someone wizened beyond her time. I mean, of course we all had, but it reflected so _clearly_ in Quistis that I suddenly didn't want to argue with her anymore.

She didn't say anything else for a few more seconds; then, "Now that you two have received your specified positions, I want you to prepare. Come see me tomorrow afternoon. You leave at midnight the day after." She paused. "Both of you."

I hadn't noticed that Squall had been watching me since I'd yelled out that they couldn't split us up. Maybe, if I had noticed, I would've folded into myself out of embarrassment. But what I _did_ notice was that Squall had said nothing in his defense. The thought that he _accepted_ what Quistis just told us enraged me a lot more than it should have.

"You are dismissed." Quistis nodded with her head toward the door and, crossing her arms, she turned away from us, walking silently towards the large window.

Squall's square shoulders and rigid back barely budged as he saluted and turned, eyes still glaring coldly. I felt like slapping him for not protesting at all – I knew he had a backbone, of course, but it was as if even _he_, the god that everyone compared to a lion, was bent unwillingly toward the powers of his superiors. Wisdom? Probably.

But instead of saying anything else, I just shook my head in helplessness and turned my back on Quistis with a barely presentable salute.

Just before the door closed, I heard Quistis mumble a soft good luck. Only, I couldn't bring myself to look back.

--

When she heard the door shut softly behind her, Quistis turned and looked at it as if in a painful sympathy. The number one reason was for Yuffie, and the second reason was for Squall. It didn't take a one-eyed monkey to see that they belonged together – it didn't take someone like Quistis to see that neither of them wanted to be separated, either. It just so happened to Yuffie was more outright with how she felt.

Quistis had known for a long time how much Yuffie cared for Squall, just as she'd known for quite a while how much Squall cared for Yuffie. Of course, as said before, Yuffie was just more upfront with her feelings, even these. Squall hid them behind carefully constructed masks of cold apathy and frigid seclusion, the likes of which Quistis had long been able to pick apart to see what lied beneath. Maybe he'd taught something unknowingly to Yuffie, because she was able to hide them (though not as well as Squall) behind her own masks – masks that people like Quistis didn't have to bother taking apart at all. She just _knew_, like everyone else who was acquainted with Yuffie just _knew_.

Quistis sighed to herself, and in the dark and quiet of her office, she realized how old she really was. _Almost thirty_, she told herself, chuckling outwardly but without any sort of happiness. She adjusted the glasses on her eyes and looked at the door. Five minutes had gone by already – what was the rest of the galaxy doing? What _would_ they be doing in the next couple of years?

Time would have to tell, she supposed.

She cast her gaze back toward the window. The sight wasn't a spectacular one. Merely a small part of the Bastion grounds – that was all it was. You couldn't even see the Rising Falls, which were the only remotely beautiful things in terms of the views.

Quistis sighed again, a small, sad sigh. It just reminded her, somehow, of what would happen to Squall and Yuffie both in just two exceedingly short days. They would be gone, perhaps forever. She didn't think, even if they returned, that she would ever see them again.

The mind worked in mysterious ways, proposing things that a person just never wanted to think about.

--

I felt like I could explode. This just wasn't _fair_. How could anyone just put down a fist and specifically _order_ that I had to stay behind!? If they hadn't just up and done that, I could've volunteered and gone _with_ Squall! I didn't want to get left behind while the only man I'd ever loved – and probably would forevermore – ups and gets himself killed somewhere!

I know I'm ranting. Who _wouldn't_? There's just no justice here.

The minute we were at end of the hall, I whirled on Squall, intending with every fiber of my being to yell at him. But when I did turn to look at him with all the ferocity I could, he just looked at me out of the corner of his eyes.

And I saw sadness and resignation in those eyes.

"What?" he whispered quietly and I felt my heart break at how differently his voice sounded now.

I stopped mid-stride, my mouth open and prepared to speak. But suddenly, just like when Quistis sighed, I could find nothing to say. I really had to brush up on my vocabulary…or…something…

Staring up at him, I felt all the sadness of his being and all my love for him filter through my gut and become a knot there, as if I were holding in my stomach. I understood how he felt – I understood it all, in that single second, as if I'd known it all my life. He didn't want to go any more than I wanted to. But he had a duty to his Kingdom – he had a duty to himself. He'd been trained to follow orders and be the hero that risked his life in times where the dead numbered high into the thousands.

But I dare not think that he'd ever been trained in following his heart.

I had always wished he loved me – I'd long ago given up feeling sorry for myself in the sense that I would try to convince myself that there was no chance he'd ever love _me_, of all people. Now, though, I knew I had a chance, however remote, to be on the receiving end of his feelings. He hadn't taken any girlfriends over the years, not since Rinoa. But fourteen years had to have healed his pain somehow, right? I did have a chance.

In times of war, we rarely have things to take comfort in. I always took comfort in my love for Squall, when everything else just made me want to cry. The remoteness of my chance at having his love gave me something to hope for.

And maybe hope is all we ever needed in the first place.

--

It painted the perfect picture of winter's endless whiteness. The snow was at least three feet high, or so I estimated from my place near the Library's large window. It lay untouched by anything, even footprints, and it continued to grow tall. In the distance, I saw a single tree that hadn't been there before. It's bare branches were piled with snow, and it seemed so _alone_ there, by itself in a garden where there were no other trees to accompany it.

I felt a yawn erupt from my mouth, and several faces turned toward me in a brief expression of annoyance, but I ignored them. There wasn't much work for anyone to do, but of course no one was around that I knew. Finding nothing of importance to do, the Library seemed most fitting. Which is really kind of sad, because I hate the library. Don't get me wrong, I like to read every now and then, but I'm not one of those people who treat the place as a second home.

Some people liked to call me a wanderer, because that was what I did; I wandered around. Aimlessly, if you must know, but I did wander. When I wasn't off saving the world or bitching about something, I just wandered. Sitting still was never one of my fine points; I'm not a patient person. Aerith's a patient person, but not me. Nope, definitely not me.

At any rate, when the library got boring, and snow prevented anyone from being outside, and I was to leave six hours from the present, I did what I barely had time to do anymore. Goodness knows where everyone was at this time. And yet, for some odd reason, I didn't really want to be bothered. Y'know, winter never did that to me before. I used to love it, before NOVA. It was a peaceful, fluffy time that once reminded me of warm fires in a hearth and hot chocolate with marshmallows.

I chanced a glance out the window one last time. The snow fell silently.

Well, time to wander.

--

**p.o.v. Aerith**

It was two hours before Leon departed for the Royal Castle on the other side of the universe when my final shift of the day ended and I was allowed to go to my room and sleep. And while my colleagues were more than willing to do so, I had another agenda in mind. I hadn't learned until earlier that day about Leon and Yuffie's 'separation,' but when I did, I was secretly livid with the pair for not telling me sooner. Leon seemed to sense this, for he discreetly told me that it wouldn't have made it a difference if I knew or didn't.

I've known Yuffie since she was barely six. Being her friend for that long has its advantages – with two hours before she was assigned to NOVA's army and it being ten o'clock, I knew exactly where she would go to brood. She was a wanderer, and I knew that if she had nothing to do, then it was more than likely that she would be meandering around the castle. However, given the situation, she would be in the only place that gave her a chance to think.

The Tower.

It has a slightly ominous name, wouldn't one think? _The Tower._ A soulless place, dark and unforgiving, towering high above all the turrets and steeples and stone gargoyles of the Bastion Castle. In it's earlier years, it had been used as the bedroom of the castle builder's daughter. Much later on, when the architect and his family left this world for another, it became a place for storage. Though the tower's history wasn't what one would call exciting, the mere atmosphere of the room was enough for Yuffie to have taken a liking to it the minute she found it. It was her secret hiding place, and I believe I'm the only one who knows about it.

The circular tower was as quiet as midnight when I reached it. Yuffie was there, however. There was a large window that faced the city not too far away, and the view was breathtaking. The young ninja whom I was searching for sat on the ledge, one leg up and one leg dangling on the inside of the otherwise empty room. She wasn't facing me, but the moment I entered, I knew that she sensed my presence.

And it was dreadfully cold.

I watched her for several minutes, but she pretended that she didn't know I was there.

--

_End Chapter Two_


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